


Bound, Unbound

by Anatui



Category: Digimon - All Media Types, Digimon Adventure Zero Two | Digimon Adventure 02
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Ichijouji Ken, Childhood Trauma, College/University, Dark Area | Dark Ocean, Depressed Ichijouji Ken, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Emotionally Constipated Ichijouji Ken, Friends to Lovers, Ichijouji Ken Is Bad at Self-Care, Ichijouji Ken Is a Panicked Gay, Idiots in Love, Jogress Bonds, Love Confessions, M/M, Mind Sex, Mutual Masturbation, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Psychic Bond, Roommates, Shameless Smut, Top Motomiya Daisuke | Davis Motomiya, Valentine's Day Fic Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-18 21:40:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22700275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anatui/pseuds/Anatui
Summary: Most of the time, the bond was useful, convenient. He and Daisuke could sync perfectly in battle and perform Jogress evolution with an ease none of the other pairs could manage. They could calm each other's worries and fears with barely a question as to what was wrong.Then, there were times like these.Unfortunately, the bond was exacerbated in moments of high emotion. It became more noticeable, stronger—powerful to the point it could overwhelm you. And the thing about emotions was, they could easily provoke a physical response.And based on the emotions flooding Ken's system now and the way they urged his body to respond, it wasn't difficult to realize what Daisuke was doing, what he was focused on, what he was feeling.Yes, at times like these, it was nigh impossible not to give in to the emotions and let his body respond the way it obviously wanted to.ORBeing able to feel each other's emotions doesn't prevent Daisuke and Ken from being emotionally constipated dumbasses. Angst, comfort, and fluffy smut ensue.
Relationships: Ichijouji Ken/Motomiya Daisuke | Davis Motomiya
Comments: 12
Kudos: 61
Collections: Ana's 2020 Writing Challenge, Daiken Discord Server, Daiken Valentine's Exchange 2020





	Bound, Unbound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ree Fireparrot (reefireparrot)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reefireparrot/gifts).



> My ~~late~~ entry for the Daiken Discord server's Valentine's exchange.
> 
> For Ree, who requested a story where Daisuke and Ken can feel each other's emotions with hurt/comfort and fluff. She also expressed a desire for more fluffy Daiken smut because there really isn't enough.
> 
> Ree, this turned out more angsty than I intended. At least I know you like angst. :P

Ken bit his lip, trying to focus on his professor at the front of the classroom, but he could no longer fight the emotions spreading through his body.

Most of the time, the bond was useful, convenient. He and Daisuke could sync perfectly in battle and perform Jogress evolution with an ease none of the other pairs could manage. They could calm each other's worries and fears with barely a question as to what was wrong.

Then, there were times like these.

Unfortunately, the bond was exacerbated in moments of high emotion. It became more noticeable, stronger—powerful to the point it could overwhelm you. And the thing about emotions was, they could easily provoke a physical response.

And based on the emotions flooding Ken's system now and the way they urged his body to respond, it wasn't difficult to realize what Daisuke was doing, what he was focused on, what he was _feeling_.

Yes, at times like these, it was nigh impossible not to give in to the emotions and let his body respond the way it obviously wanted to.

But the idea of touching himself when Daisuke was obviously satisfying his more carnal desires— _because_ of Daisuke's carnal desires—didn't sit right.

Besides, getting an erection while his middle-aged professor lectured about SSRIs and neurotransmitters was hardly appropriate. Actually considering _doing something_ about that erection was decidedly worse.

Gritting his teeth, Ken shifted in the seat, trying not to focus on the arousal, the desire, the sheer want that flowed through him, trying not to let it distract him from his careful note-taking, even as he struggled to breathe at a calm, steady pace.

Still, he could barely focus on the rest of the lesson—and at the time class ended a full fifteen minutes later, the desire had not faded or waned.

No, instead, it had expanded, strengthened, buried itself deep till he couldn't root it out.

Everyone else, even the professor, left the lecture hall before Ken managed to pry his white knuckles from the edge of his desk.

Ken, though, had to force all of his attention on those overwhelming emotions in one final attempt to will his body to relax, his erection to soften. He couldn't venture outside the classroom before that; his jeans were, regrettably, far too tight to hide it.

Perhaps the worst part of it all, though, was how truly in sync they were.

He could feel the moment that overwhelming desire and arousal shifted. The moment it transitioned to the heady warmth of satisfaction. Being aware of the exact moment Daisuke climaxed was a special kind of torture.

The only good thing about that was it eased the ache, the longing—just barely enough.

When he finally pulled himself together, he withdrew his phone from his satchel and checked his messages as an attempt to further distract himself.

Ken's stomach clenched.

_What are the dreams about?_

He struggled to breathe.

The text was only fifteen minutes old—a time when Ken was unable to pay attention to the lecture. Yet, somehow, Daisuke had no trouble texting him in the middle of getting off?

Another text came in, then a third.

_This time, I mean._

_They can't all still be about the Kaiser._

He heaved a sigh and shoved his fingers into his thick black locks.

He so wasn't ready for this conversation, though Daisuke probably knew that. Not that that stopped Daisuke from pushing his buttons, breaking down his barriers, and shoving him out of his comfort zone.

But this was different.

This time, Ken's reason for not discussing the dreams—the nightmares—was because the content was far too telling. They'd been friends for eight years or so now, and the last thing he needed was to out his worst-kept secret.

It must've been obvious how he felt about Daisuke by now, especially to him; surely, Daisuke could tell with the added benefit of the Jogress bond—the sweet, beautiful torture that allowed him to remain close to the object of his affections while knowing with absolute surety that the sentiment was unrequited. Daisuke's feelings toward him hadn't changed since they were children, since they first became friends, and that was an indisputable fact when he had a perfect window into the goggle boy's emotions on a daily basis.

Ken took a deep, steadying breath and set his fingers to the tiny keyboard: _I'd rather not talk about it._

If they were together in person, his tone would convey the seriousness of the matter; like this, he could only hope Daisuke would pick up on the finality of the words from their connection.

_Fine, we'll talk about this later._

Or he could choose to ignore it. Which was just like Daisuke.

Ken dropped his face against his desk, biting his lip, and tried once again to get his emotions in check. He was still on edge, still somewhat aroused, and definitely still uncomfortable.

The phone vibrated again in his hands, and he lifted his head to unlock it and read it. _Pick up some eggs on your way home?_

He heaved a sigh before answering affirmatively and finally pushing himself from his chair, thankful no class used the lecture hall this period. Now that he was moving, he wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible and back to the apartment—but apparently he needed to go shopping first.

*

When Ken finally slipped into the apartment, the tension hadn't eased from his body, and Daisuke wiping his hands on his cerulean apron, practically jumping on him the moment the door closed didn't help.

Ken blinked at his close proximity before holding up the package with a furrowed brow. "I brought eggs?"

With a huff, Daisuke snatched the eggs from his hands and set them on the counter. "Are you okay?" He sent Ken a wary glance but stayed farther away this time. "I mean, obviously not. What's bothering you?"

He sighed as he slipped off his loafers. "My final class was…well, I had trouble concentrating," he answered carefully, hanging his satchel on the nearby hook. "Frustrated, I suppose."

Daisuke froze in the middle of turning back toward the kitchen, and there was an edge to his voice when he said, "You're not frustrated."

Ken almost laughed.

It had been a half-truth, after all.

No, he wasn't frustrated in the typical meaning of the word. Despite the fact that it had been nearly an hour since the moment had passed, his body remained stubbornly frustrated with the situation. Sexually frustrated.

Not that Daisuke needed to know that.

Hopefully he didn't pick it up.

"I am," Ken said, leaning against the front door with a sigh. "I'm not lying, Daisuke."

His roommate and best friend—and, well, _everything_ —continued his trek into the kitchen, eggs tucked under one arm, and made himself comfortable at the stove. "Never said you were." He set the eggs on the counter and grabbed a bamboo spatula before getting back to his task. "I'm making ramen for dinner."

Ken frowned and finally pushed away from the door to follow him into the small kitchen. "Don't you get tired of making that every day?"

Daisuke laughed, but it sounded strained, tense. "Course not."

Of course, everything about Daisuke was tense right now.

He was concerned, and Ken tried to relax himself, to calm his mind. Nothing else would put his best friend at ease.

Even if it was because of said best friend that he was tense in the first place.

Ken worried his lip and cast his gaze toward Daisuke, who was pouring sake and chicken stock into the pan.

Was Daisuke aware of how well his emotions crossed the bond when he felt that strongly about something? Was he aware of how easy it was to tell when he touched himself?

Well, to be fair, it wasn't like that every time.

And it wasn't like neither of them had had sex before, and that wasn't horribly awkward or uncomfortable.

Yes, this time was different.

This time, whatever— _who_ ever—Daisuke was thinking about while touching himself struck a particularly strong emotional chord. Perhaps he was thinking about someone he felt strongly for, perhaps even loved.

That thought ate at Ken's stomach like a cancer.

"Okay, you're freaking me out, Ichijouji," Daisuke snapped, turning and brandishing the spatula at him. "What are you so upset about?"

Ken shook his head. "Nothing."

"Now you're lying."

He kept his mouth shut. No sense in arguing when it was obvious.

After a moment, Daisuke growled and shifted back to the stove. The dish was starting to simmer, and he would never neglect his creations.

Ken took the opportunity to take a calming breath or two—or five. Only then could he manage to speak without making things worse.

He wetted his lips and slid farther into the kitchen. "Yes, I'm upset, but I'll get over it," he said slowly, cautiously, his voice calm and even and perhaps a little practiced. "It's not a big deal. I just don't really want to talk about it." Even though Daisuke didn't turn as he listened, Ken took another tentative step, closing the distance between them. "You don't need to worry about me."

Daisuke scoffed, and Ken could feel the irritation—the anger—flaring up. "If you're upset about something, I'm going to worry about you. Period." The emotion faded almost as quickly as it came. "But you're right. If you don't want to talk about it yet, I can't force you to."

Ken's eyes fluttered shut as he took the final step into Daisuke's bubble and leaned his forehead on his shoulder. "Thank you for understanding," he murmured.

The muscles clenched, then immediately relaxed. "You'll tell me eventually, though, right?" Daisuke asked in a quiet voice.

"I'll consider it."

A quiet, uneasy sigh was his only response.

Ken drew back, giving him space to move around like Daisuke always did in the kitchen—and everywhere else honestly. "What are your plans tonight?"

That pulled a short laugh from the shorter man's lips, and he cast an amused glance over his shoulder. "Eat some ramen with my best friend. Maybe play some video games? It is the weekend, you know."

With a soft smile, Ken leaned against him again, this time much more relaxed. "Yes, that sounds nice," he said into Daisuke's shoulder.

*

After a long evening of ramen and dungeon crawlers and laughter, they parted ways for the night. Ken retired to his room first—only after chiding Daisuke enough he promised he wouldn't stay up too late—and he slipped into his pajamas before sliding under the covers.

The ebb and flow of the waves sang him to sleep that night.

Most people would find the waves, softly crashing against a quiet beach under an overcast sky, comforting.

But Ken wasn't most people.

The beach was plain and bare of anything particularly interesting, but he found himself compelled to walk along the smooth sand all the same. His feet padded along the edge, foamy water washing over his toes with the tide. His eyes fluttered shut as a cool breeze rustled the pajamas, drawing attention to the wetness soaking into the fabric at his ankles.

His feet, the pajama pants—they weren't the only part of him that was wet. His eyes stung, and rivulets poured down his cheeks.

When had he started crying?

Fingertips wiped away the tears, spreading hot liquid across his cheeks. His hands were wet too. Wet before they touched the salty tears.

He forced his eyes open.

His fingers, his palms, his hands were coated in a thick liquid, nearly black under the darkness of night. But he could smell the metal, the iron.

Was that his blood?

He didn't feel pain. There wasn't blood anywhere else. He didn't feel anything.

_Ken…_

Who's Ken?

His head jolted around, tearing in each direction, searching. His hands clenched into fists, the blood squelching between his fingers.

How was there so much blood but no source?

The tears were flowing again, and the water rushed pooled higher at his ankles, up his shins, soaking the pajama pants to his knees.

His legs buckled.

He dropped to his knees, crashing into the rising water, crying out—out of shock or fear or sorrow, he didn't know.

But then the foaming tide started to recede again.

_Ken?_

His whole body was soaked nearly to his throat, but the water ebbed back, and he fell forward, his bloody hands landing in the wet sand.

It wasn't just sand anymore.

A sob tore from his lips.

His fingers found the smooth edge of the spectacles, ran along the thick rim, smeared the blood and the sand over the shimmering glass lens.

_Ken…Ken, wake up._

Was that voice talking to him?

Was the boy in the indigo pajamas, blood on his hands, oddly dear glasses clutched to his chest—was _he_ Ken?

Something sharp pinched his side.

"Come on, Ichijouji, snap out of it."

Ken bolted upright, panting, eyes wide, wet with tears, searching the darkness.

But this wasn't the same darkness.

This was the dark of night, not the Dark Ocean. There was no rising tide, no sand, no glasses. He wasn't a boy anymore, broken on the beach, and there wasn't blood on his hands—at least not literally.

Moonlight stretched across the bed, illuminating the creases in the gray sheets—along with the golden tan legs tangled up with his.

"Ken?" Daisuke's curious face leaned down over him, rich brown eyes capturing his. His voice was softer now that Ken was awake, gentler, worried. "You okay?"

He pushed up on his elbows, but Daisuke didn't retreat, and their foreheads bumped lightly. "Yeah, I…I'll be fine." He tried to run a hand through his hair, but his fingers grazed Daisuke's cheek in the process.

That finally caused him to lean away.

Daisuke collapsed onto the mattress and tucked his hands under his head. "This is the fifth night in a row, you know."

Ken sat up, hugging his knees to his chest. "I know."

"Sure you don't wanna tell me about it? It's not going to get better if you don't talk about it." Daisuke's words were blase, like he wasn't deathly curious, even though we both knew he was. "Or do I have to spend the rest of my life explaining I have bags under my eyes because my roommate keeps me up at night?"

Despite himself, Ken snorted into his knee. "You know what people will think if you say that, right?"

He shrugged.

Yes, Daisuke was aware of the sort of lewd images the wording might bring to mind, and he wasn't bothered in the least. To be fair, people had already assumed that for years, and Daisuke never let that get to him. Nothing ever bothered him.

But perhaps Daisuke didn't realize the sort of lewd images the wording brought to Ken's mind. Especially with him lying on the edge of his bed in nothing but a pair of fiery boxers.

A deep flush rose to Ken's cheeks, and he turned away, unable to speak.

"I know, I know," Daisuke said, rising and wrapping an arm around his best friend, leaning his head against his shoulder. "I said I wouldn't pry. You can tell me when you're ready. Just, you know, remember that I'm here no matter what. You can't get rid of me, doesn't matter how hard you try."

With a long sigh, Ken leaned into his touch, his arm pressing against his bare chest. "Thank you, Daisuke."

Daisuke released a shaky breath, and his arm tightened. "Want me to stay?"

"Yes."

He raised an eyebrow at how quickly the word came out.

Ken cleared his throat, looking down at his knees again. "I sleep better when you're here."

"Okay," was all he said. "Okay, I'll stay." And he leaned back on the mattress, pulling Ken down with him, tugging the covers up over them and holding him in his arms.

*

The world was soft and warm and perfect, and Ken pushed deeper into that warmth, shimmying to get closer. A long pleased sigh escaped as the heat tensed and tightened around him.

Then, something hard pushed back, pressing against his backside.

He took a steadying breath, trying to clear his cloudy head so he could figure out what that hardness was. He pressed against it again, testing the waters so to speak, and it responded immediately. A pleasant thrill spiraled through his body, coiling in his groin, and he pressed back again, rolling his hips.

Hot fingers grasped his hip, and as the hard length thrust forward, driving firmly against his backside, a deep heady groan echoed behind his ear.

Ken's eyes shot open.

Oh god, no.

Daisuke buried his face in his neck, shaky breath sending shivers down his spine, and thrust his hips again—Ken released a ragged gasp. That hard length was Daisuke's erection, and he was humping him, and dear god, it felt good. The rush of blood was evidence enough of that.

His hard-on pressed firmly against his backside, and he wanted to lean into it, give in to the hot sensations.

But this had gone on long enough.

Ken tore the blankets off and slipped from his grasp, desperate to get off the bed, but Daisuke, still mostly asleep, had him trapped against the wall. How was he supposed to get out of there without climbing over him or the computer?

Well, he couldn't.

With one hand on the wall, he stretched a leg over and pressed it to the floor, already lifting the other leg to follow. He held his breath, careful to keep from touching him, thankful he was tall enough and the bed was low enough and—

Dammit.

His foot caught on the blanket.

He slipped, stumbled, fell flat on his back—pulling Daisuke and the blanket down on top of him. Their foreheads cracked together—a sharp pain jutted through his head, and he gasped.

When his vision righted itself, they were a heap on his bedroom floor, Daisuke pinning him to the carpet, his face pressed into Ken's shoulder, hot breath permeating the thin shirt. Their legs tangled together, Daisuke's knee spreading his thighs, his erection firm against Ken's hip. The blanket, still partially on the bed, was twisted and piled on top of them.

Daisuke groaned, trying to find somewhere to put his hands, and when at last he managed, he pushed up to look him in the eye. "G'morning?" He blinked the sleep from his eyes, his voice thick and cracking from disuse.

Ken opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

The lower halves of their bodies were still connected, and the position just pressed Daisuke harder against his hip, and he couldn't focus on anything but the erection, no softer now that he was awake, no softer than it was moments ago, nestled against his ass.

His face was hot.

He couldn't breathe.

Daisuke frowned, leaning close again to examine his flushed face. "Ken?"

"O-off…" He swallowed, wetting his dry throat. "Daisuke, get off."

He laughed slowly, a lazy smile spreading across his lips, and he pushed up into a sitting position, then slid off Ken's lap to lean against the side of the bed. "That's quite a way to wake me up, Ken," he said, following the words with a warm chuckle.

Ken could easily retort that having his morning wood grinding against his backside was "quite a way to wake up" too, but he was already kicking the blanket off and stumbling to his feet.

He was out of the room before Daisuke could even register he was gone.

The bathroom door slammed shut.

Ken twisted the lock into place and pressed his forehead to the door, trying to steady his erratic heart. Goddammit, this could not be happening.

"Ken, you okay?"

Daisuke's voice was right outside the bathroom, but he was collected, more awake from his concern, and there was an edge to his voice.

"Okay, stupid question, I know." He sighed. "But is there anything I can do to help? Do you wanna talk about it?"

Ken stepped back and grabbed his comb to sort out his loose hair. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be all right. Startled me, is all."

He hummed in response—he wasn't convinced in the least, and Ken couldn't blame him. "All right. I'm gonna make breakfast. You hungry?"

He dropped the comb on the counter and clutched the edge. "Yeah, that sounds good."

Daisuke's footsteps retreated down the hallway, heading toward the kitchen and living room.

A soft sigh escaped Ken's lips, and he buried a hand in his hair.

If Daisuke made food while they were both at the apartment, he always made enough for both of them, and he wasn't afraid of telling Ken when he needed to sit down and eat instead of burying himself in his studies. But Daisuke never ate this early in the morning—only Ken did. Hell, Daisuke was never up this early in the morning.

He had to be tired, and how did Ken repay him?

By pining after him and checking him out when he wasn't looking. By grinding against his erection while he slept—a totally normal thing that had nothing to do with sharing a bed, nothing to do with cuddling while they slept.

At least Daisuke had the good grace to pretend it didn't happen, to pretend he didn't realize he was hard while pinning his best friend to the floor. Either that or he'd been too tired to notice.

Either way, Ken was grateful. That would make it easier to put it behind them and forget.

He ran the sink and splashed cold water over his face, but he was covered in a cold sweat from a combination of the night's dreams and the fiasco he'd just gone through. He smelled and looked and felt disgusting.

He never bathed in the morning, but this warranted a rinse-off, surely.

A moment later, he'd stripped and stepped inside the shower area. 

It only took a minute for the hot water to wash away the tension, the anxiety, and he began to relax, to breathe properly. His heartbeat was no longer hammering in his chest.

At least for a moment.

Because it didn't take long to pick up again as a flood of emotions—Daisuke's emotions—rushed through his body.

It was like yesterday. The desire, the arousal, the want, the _need_ smothering out his own emotions, his own feelings, until he could feel nothing but Daisuke.

Oh god.

Was this going to happen all the time now?

Because Ken really couldn't handle it if he lost himself every time Daisuke got horny. Something told him that was a relatively normal occurrence. God, he'd never be able to get anything done.

The desire spiked, and he inhaled sharply.

To be this strong, Daisuke had to be doing something about it.

So much for breakfast.

Ken's eyes darted downward.

He was already hard, but it wasn't in response to his current predicament. He had been since he'd woken up, Daisuke's body wrapped around him, Daisuke's hard length thrusting against his ass.

He'd been trying to ignore his own arousal for dignity's sake, but the erection laid firmly against his thigh, difficult to ignore now that it was on display. So easy to grasp in his hand.

So he did.

It had been a while—too long—since Ken had properly touched himself. But the feeling of Daisuke's desire mixing with his own was too much to resist.

He pressed his back against the tile wall, the only one with enough free space to support him, and gripped himself with a firm hand. Slow strokes weren't enough—not when he imagined fingers rougher and thicker than his fisting around his length, tugging and yanking with a hunger he felt down to his core.

It was too easy to imagine Daisuke's voice in his ear, a rough groan like this morning. Too easy to feel his hot body wrap around him, chest bare, erection thrusting against his ass, begging to be let inside.

And if Daisuke were actually there, Ken might find it embarrassing how quickly he came.

Instead, he slumped against the tile wall, letting the hot water wash away the evidence of his misdeed, riding the high of his orgasm—and letting his eyes roll back at the arousal still coursing through him, strong and spiking higher and higher until he was riding the high of Daisuke's orgasm too.

Only then could he really breathe.

Only then did his body crumple in on itself, knees weak, limbs trembling, and he slid down the wall to sit in a heap on the tile floor, toes pressing against the edge of the drain, the hot water washing over him. The tears streaming down his cheeks weren't from his nightmare anymore—they were a release, somewhere for the emotions and desires that had been boiling inside him for the last eighteen hours to escape.

The shame didn't set in until several minutes later when Ken had managed to gather himself together and stumble back to his bedroom, a towel slung around his waist. He fumbled with getting dressed, still damp but thankfully no longer coated in sweat.

*

In the kitchen, Daisuke worked over the skillet, heating butter in the pan, and he glanced up when Ken joined him. He didn't look tired anymore—his body moved with a fluidity he didn't typically possess, and his grin was lax, easy. His messy, cinnamon-brown hair was all mussed to one side, flat on the other from the bed, but that didn't seem to bother him like it normally would. Relaxation came off of him in waves, both in the way he felt and the way he looked.

But what caught Ken's eye was the fact that he hadn't put on any more clothes since he fell out of bed.

He was working at the stove, pouring a ruddy-brown batter into the pan, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, completely at ease. His abs were taut and gorgeous, and the trimmed line of red-brown hair trailing up toward his belly button glistened under the light from the stove.

They were twenty now, and god, when had Daisuke gotten that sexy?

"You're staring, Ichijouji…" But when he glanced up, he smiled, and his entire face transformed with warmth and happiness and pleasure. He wasn't calling him out on ogling him—it was just Daisuke's normal teasing.

"Sorry," Ken said quietly, heat rising to his cheeks anyway, and he forced his legs to stumble closer.

To be fair, of course he was staring.

Yes, Daisuke wasn't wearing any more clothing than before, but the boxers he had on now were definitely not the same ones he'd worn overnight. These were a deep indigo instead and bore no flames, no design of any kind. And Ken could make a damn good guess as to what happened to the previous pair.

Daisuke's focus was on the pan thankfully, and when bubbles slowly rose in the batter, he slid the spatula underneath and flipped the pancake. Then, he took a sip from his glass of water, sitting on the counter nearby, and offered it to his roommate.

Ken accepted the glass with tentative fingers and took a long drink before setting it on the counter between them. "Thanks."

By the time Daisuke laid a plate of red bean pancakes in front of him, the tension between them had nearly dissipated, and Ken had managed to relax against the counter nearby. Daisuke slid another pancake onto the other plate, turned off the burner, and leaned next to him, their arms brushing while they ate.

"What are you gonna do today?" Daisuke nudged him with an elbow between bites. "You don't have any obligations or plans, right?"

Ken bit his lip. "My mother wanted me to come by since I have some time today," he said, trying to keep his tone light.

Of course, that couldn't fool Daisuke when he could tell how nervous the thought made him.

He frowned. "Come by for what?"

"She's been cleaning through closets and things. She wants me to look through a few boxes, see if there's anything I want to keep from…" Ken hesitated, staring down at his partially eaten pancakes. "My old bedroom… _Osamu_ 's old bedroom."

"Ah." Daisuke set his plate down and leaned closer, dropping his chin onto Ken's shoulder. "You sure you want to go over there alone? We could—"

Ken laughed, and Daisuke pulled back. "You work all day."

"I've still got a few hours."

He shook his head. "I have to go all the way to Tamachi. It doesn't make sense for you to come with me."

Daisuke scowled. "Yeah, but you shouldn't be doing that alone."

Ken slid his own plate onto the counter and shifted to look at him properly. "I won't be there alone, you know," he said in a quiet, solemn voice. "My mother will be there, and I'm sure she needs the company as much as I do while looking through it."

"Yeah, but…"

He pressed his palm to Daisuke's cheek and smiled. "I'll be fine. You don't have to worry about me."

Daisuke's eyes fell shut, and he leaned into the touch, pressing his cheekbone firmly against his warm hand. "You know I'm going to worry anyway."

"I know." His thumb traced a line over the thick brown eyebrows, smoothing them out, and down his temple. "I know you will, but you don't have to."

When his eyes fluttered open, they were dark and dilated, and Ken couldn't move his gaze away. Not until Daisuke licked his lips, drawing his attention like a magnet, and suddenly, Ken was all too aware that the hand he had pressed to his best friend's cheek was the same hand he'd used in the shower, the same hand he'd used to pleasure himself to the rhythm of what was probably Daisuke's morning ritual.

His body was still happy and relaxed after his climax—the strongest one he'd had in years honestly—but that must've dropped his defenses.

He wouldn't normally allow himself to get this close. It was simpler, easier, if he kept his distance—enough of a distance that he didn't get caught up in an emotional moment and think things he wasn't supposed to.

For instance, he definitely wasn't supposed to be thinking about running his hands through Daisuke's hair. Or bridging the mere centimeters of distance to fit their mouths together.

Kissing him was definitely off limits.

And using their bond, using Daisuke's arousal as masturbation fodder definitely should've been.

Ken clamped his eyes shut and pulled away. He returned to his food before it got too cold, and Daisuke followed suit.

If Daisuke noticed what had happened while Ken was in the shower, he wouldn't mention it. Just like he never mentioned how Ken felt about him. It was easier that way, not having to reject your best friend…and Ken appreciated not having to be rejected by _his_ best friend.

*

His mother set him up with a couple boxes on the old desk that used to house Osamu's— _his_ —desktop computer and left him alone to look through the contents.

Ken wasn't sure how he felt about that, as being alone with ugly childhood memories was the last thing he wanted, but he supposed she had been dealing with them on her own for long enough. She probably needed a break as well, and starting a pot of tea and pulling out snacks was how she dealt with things.

The first box hardly contained anything noteworthy. A few binders of elementary schoolwork with perfect scores he had no memory of completing, several mostly empty notebooks and folders, various office accouterments that once littered this very desk, and a couple small mementos from a time he didn't want to remember. Thankfully, nothing that caused him pause, and definitely nothing he wanted to keep.

He nudged it aside with ease, making a mental note that the contents could be gotten rid of.

The second box, however, was immediately more difficult to stomach. There were a few smaller wooden boxes, several trinkets he didn't remember, a few computer parts that had been tucked away in the closet, and then, right there on top, were Osamu's glasses, folded neatly but cracked all the same.

Ken wrapped his fingers around cold frames and held them tight against his chest.

The position was all too familiar, but it took him a moment to place it. To feel like he was back there at the Dark Ocean, trapped in his own mind, the blood literally on his hands.

It didn't take long for the tears to come.

Ken dropped into the office chair and allowed himself to wallow in them.

But it took even less time for his coat pocket to vibrate.

"I'm okay," he said the second he answered the phone call.

Daisuke huffed on the other side of the line. "You're not."

Ken laughed. "Well, yes, but that's hardly surprising, isn't it?" He still clutched the glasses tight in his hand, sitting atop his lap, and he knew he should set them aside, but he couldn't bear the thought of not touching them right now. "You know why I came here."

The line crackled with his best friend's sigh. "Yeah, yeah, I know."

"I'm not…" But Ken wasn't sure how to finish the thought. "I'm sad, yes," he said instead, "but I'm okay. It's just, you know, memories."

"Osamu."

It wasn't a question, but he said, "Yes," anyway.

For a long while, Daisuke didn't say anything, and Ken could hear the hustle and bustle of the restaurant in the background. Did Daisuke take a break just to call him? In the middle of the lunch rush?

Ken wanted to laugh, though it felt inappropriate under the circumstances.

Of course he did.

"Are you sure that's all it is?" Daisuke asked in an uncertain whisper. "Just memories of Osamu?"

Ken bit his lip.

No, that wasn't all it was, but he didn't want to get into a conversation that definitely shouldn't be had over the phone. He didn't want to tell him about his latest nightmare, about the blood on his hands.

Because for some reason, no matter how hard he had tried to argue his point, Daisuke firmly believed Ken didn't have blood on his hands. Figuratively or literally.

"I'm sure," he said, but his voice sounded anything but sure.

Not that Daisuke needed to hear his voice to know that.

But he sighed into the mouthpiece again and said, "All right, if you're sure, Ichijouji." He was forcing himself to be upbeat, but Ken appreciated the effort anyway.

Besides, Ken knew better than anyone that this conversation was far from over. Daisuke would bring it up again; he wouldn't let Ken keep the darkness to himself, no matter how much Ken didn't want to taint his best friend's glimmer and shine, and force him to talk about it, to let it out.

Part of him was grateful.

That determination was reassuring, a kindness in itself.

But another part of him loathed the way Daisuke refused to let him keep any part of himself safe from prying hands and eyes and ears. Even if those lovely hands and eyes and ears were Daisuke's.

It was an irrational anger.

He would happily share everything with Daisuke if he wanted it, but as much as Daisuke burrowed in and latched on to all aspects of Ken's life, he had no desire to share more than this. No desire to share his heart, ironic as it was.

"I am," he murmured into the phone. "I'll see you at home later."

When the call finally ended, Ken dragged his legs up onto the office chair, silent tears still falling, and he held the glasses close again. This time, they were almost a comfort, despite the firm reminder of his nightmares, his ever-present demons.

"Ken, honey?"

A quick glance over his shoulder gave him a view of his mother in the doorway, a tray with a steaming teapot, cups, and a small plate of cookies in her hands. There were no tears, but her eyes were shimmering as she smiled.

"Mama." He lifted the glasses to show her. "I found Osamu's glasses," he said in a quiet voice instead of a greeting.

She approached slowly and slid the tray onto an open space on the desk, then leaned against the side of the chair to press a kiss to his head. "I started crying when I saw them too," she said in a hushed voice. "I don't want to get rid of them, but I thought…well, I thought maybe you'd want them."

He ducked his head as fresh tears fell, splattering on the lenses, warm from his fingers. "Yes," was all he could manage.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him despite the uncomfortable position. "I think your brother would like that."

Ken nodded as he reached up a hand to hold hers.

"Was that Daisuke-kun on the phone?"

He nodded again.

She laughed then, though it came out garbled. "He's always taking care of you, isn't he? Making sure you're okay." She paused, her words more amused than the situation warranted. "How does he always know when something's bothering you?"

Ken remained silent, uncertain what to say.

He and Daisuke had never really told anyone else about the bond, about the way they just _knew_ what the other was feeling, no matter how far away. Their attempts to tell the other Jogress partners hadn't gone as smoothly as they'd expected. The others—not even Taichi-san and Yamato-san—didn't have the same experience, couldn't even wrap their heads around it.

And if the other Chosen Children couldn't understand, how could they ever expect anyone else to?

It turned out he didn't have to say anything, though, because his mother filled the silence with a soft hum and the uncomfortably knowing words, "You two love each other so much."

He couldn't tell what exactly she meant by that, but he froze at the implication.

Because while, yes, he couldn't deny just how much he loved Daisuke, he also couldn't confirm that Daisuke loved him the same.

*

Ken stayed with his mother for another few hours before taking the train back to his and Daisuke's apartment. Daisuke didn't get home till late, long after the dinner rush ended, but he brought food home, and they ate quietly before watching something Ken didn't pay enough attention to to remember.

Daisuke knew what sort of mood he was in, knew he had no interest in talking presently, and he didn't press.

He also wasn't surprised when Ken rose to his feet and announced he was going to bed.

The day had been emotionally exhausting, and Ken felt dead enough to sleep for years. All he could do was hope for a dreamless night, though he didn't expect luck to be on his side.

But when Ken exited the bathroom with clean teeth and fresh pajamas, Daisuke took him by surprise.

Daisuke leaned against the wall opposite the bathroom door, still wearing his work clothes, though the belt was decidedly loosened. His hands were tucked into his pockets, and his warm brown eyes assessed him in a lazy perusal.

Ken clutched the door frame with a frown. "Everything all right?"

Nervousness poured off of him in waves, and Daisuke dropped his gaze and worried his lip before saying, "Do you think maybe it would be better if I just, you know, went to bed with you?"

He froze. "You want to go to bed with me?"

Daisuke's eyes darted to meet his, wide and oddly vulnerable. "Ken, they've gotten worse. You've had a nightmare every night for the last week. If I'm there next to you, I can get to you faster, wake you up sooner."

Ken nodded slowly and released the door frame to walk toward his dark bedroom. "You going to get dressed for bed then?"

It wasn't until he was in his bedroom, a bedside lamp illuminating the area with a warm glow, that he realized what being "dressed for bed" meant to his dear roommate and friend. Daisuke didn't wear much of anything, especially after he bathed, which seemed to be what he was doing now, as the shower ran in the distance.

Ken tried not to think about it too much as he read one of his textbooks, letting the day fade into the thin pages and blurring words, while Daisuke soaked in the tub.

He tried not to think about _that_ either.

By the time Daisuke slid under the covers with him, Ken was half asleep, though the touch of Daisuke's hot skin against his was enough to jolt him awake and shoot off a pulse of nervousness throughout his body.

"Hey," Daisuke said in a low voice, eyes darting around the room. "You ready to fall asleep? Turn off the light?"

Ken nodded, but before he could make a move toward the lamp, Daisuke stretched out from under the sheets and pressed the button.

The last image he had before it was suddenly, unbearably dark was Daisuke's naked chest, muscles lean but corded, nipples dark and pert, tawny skin practically glowing from the lamplight.

God, that image would haunt him for the rest of the night. Probably longer.

Ken took a shaky breath and twisted to face the wall, clamping his eyes shut, trying to bury his thoughts before they got out of hand.

"Hey…" Daisuke pressed a tentative hand to his shoulder. "You don't have to be nervous. I'm just here to help." His fingers trailed down to rub smooth circles on Ken's upper back, and he shifted, jostling the blanket, till his legs fit against Ken's.

"I know," Ken said, but he wasn't any less nervous.

The fingers stilled, tips soft against his back, and Daisuke asked, "What are the dreams about?"

Ken shifted, and the hand fell away. "Can we just go to sleep?"

His voice shook, and he was sure Daisuke would ask about it, demand to know answers, demand to know about the nightmares and the nervousness and why in the world he just couldn't get over his stupid, inconvenient feelings so they never had to tread lightly around his unrequited love.

But he didn't.

In fact, all Daisuke did was squeeze his shoulder one last time before pulling back to lie on his back. "Yeah, sleep…"

*

Daisuke's skin glowed, warm and lovely and perfect under the hot sun, and Ken couldn't do much but admire it, admire the way the breeze rustled his cinnamon locks, admire the pleased smile on his lips as he reclined on the bright blue towel.

Ken curled up next to him, warmed by the sun and Daisuke's glistening skin. A strong tawny arm wrapped around him, holding him close, skin to skin aside from their swimming trunks. Callused fingers trailed down his spine, jolting a shiver through his body. Daisuke repeated the motion, and a soft gasp escaped his lips.

"You know," Daisuke began in a slow voice, dragging out the words with a seductive lilt, "I think we've spent more time on the beach than actually in the water."

Ken shivered again, and this time it wasn't from Daisuke's words and ministrations.

The idea of going for a swim, of getting in the water, sounded particularly unsettling, though he had no idea why. The lake was pristine, shimmering and sparkling under the sunlight, and it looked incredibly inviting.

Daisuke's arm tightened around him. "Don't worry. I won't let you drown."

He could swim, of course, but he appreciated the sentiment all the same. Once again, Daisuke said anything he thought would help assuage his worries.

Then, Daisuke shifted so they were face to face, close enough their noses brushed, his arm still tucked under Ken's neck and around his back. "Besides, I have no interest in letting you go any time soon."

A blush crept up Ken's cheeks.

Daisuke's eyes searched his for just a moment, and then he pressed forward, covered Ken's lips with an open-mouthed kiss—and Ken melted into his embrace, jelly under his hands.

A greedy moan escaped his lips, cut short when Daisuke rolled them over, pinning him to the towel and the hot sand, spreading his thighs with a knee. He gasped into Daisuke's hot mouth when the knee grazed his growing erection, then pressed firmly against it, and he writhed at the contact.

Ken wrapped his arms around his shoulders, drawing him closer, and hooked a leg around his hips, desperate for more contact, more touching, more skin.

Daisuke got the message pretty damn quickly.

His hands grasped Ken's hips and yanked him up. Their bodies met with a jolt of electricity, and Ken broke the wet kiss to throw his head back and moan, not caring about the sand infiltrating his hair, not caring about anything but the way Daisuke's body moved against him or his teeth sank into the exposed skin at his throat.

"Fuck," Daisuke groaned against that tender skin, hips rocking in a haphazard rhythm. "I want you."

Ken didn't even know what incoherent words fled his mouth, only that it quickly devolved into repeating Daisuke's name over and over. He gripped firm shoulders and drove his hips upward, enjoying the throaty gasp and heated groan that followed the motion, and repeated and repeated because he couldn't imagine wanting to hear anything else for the rest of his life.

The breeze was no longer gentle, increasing with the sounds Ken's needy cries as callused fingers tugged at the hem of his trunks, and he shifted, trying to help wiggle them off.

All he wanted was to be unbound, no longer confined by the constricting fabric. Unbound and then undone in the best way possible. Until he could no longer tell where he ended and Daisuke began, until there was no discernable difference between their lips and their hands and their hearts.

When he opened his eyes again, clouds blocked the sun. What was once a beautiful clear blue sky had shifted while he wasn't looking, while he was distracted. Now, gray clouds spread across that sky, transforming their lovely vista to an eerie, darkened shore. Gales of wind tore through the trees, dark waves crashed against the sand, and the tide was rising, slowly making its way toward their safe spot on the beach.

The water, tingling and foamy, sloshes against his feet, soaking into the blue towel, rising, rising, rising, until it nearly reached his shoulder blades.

He struggled for purchase, desperate to get out of the water, and for a moment, something held him to the sand-covered wet towel, weighing down his chest until he couldn't breathe. But when he looked down, the only thing there was a pair of well-worn goggles.

For a moment, all he could do was stare.

He didn't notice the water's continued rise until it reached his chin.

He jumped to his feet, goggles tight in his fist so he didn't lose them, and stared at them, even as the waves crashed against his shins. Because really, who wore goggles? They weren't the kind you would find in a place like this, swimming goggles. They weren't the kind any rational person would wear on a regular basis.

But they were familiar. Worn, yet cared for. Loved.

As he turned them over, something dark and wet kept coming off on his hands, though the goggles themselves looked quite clean.

No, that liquid was coming _from_ his hands.

There was blood on his hands.

It smeared on the goggles, blurring the glass, turning them dirty and tainted and wrong, and it was his fault. It was always his fault.

The water was nearly to waist height now. He dipped a hand in, but the blood wouldn't wash off. Dark red tinged the water, mixing with the waves and the foam, but his hand was still coated when he pulled it out, like nothing had changed.

There was _always_ blood on his hands.

And the goggles. They were covered in it now. Daisuke wouldn't want them back like this. Not that he ever wore them anymore.

Daisuke.

His eyes flashed up, darting around, searching.

The goggles were Daisuke's.

But where did he go?

He was here.

They were together.

Where did Daisuke go?

He clutched the blood-covered goggles to his bare chest and closed his eyes, tried to concentrate, tried to focus on the cinnamon-brown hair, the warm eyes, the large grin, the everlasting energy.

Nothing.

In his chest, his heartbeat was fierce, desperate, terrified—but it beat alone. His own emotions were strong, overpowering, but underneath that, he should still be able to feel Daisuke.

Nothing.

There was nothing.

He couldn't feel Daisuke anymore.

Daisuke was gone.

He was alone.

Goggles tight in his fist, he jolted forward and retched into the dark water, still rising, still trying to pull him under.

Daisuke was gone, and he was alone, and there was blood on his hands, and it was his fault. It was always his fault. The blood was there. Even when it wasn't, it was there. He would never be able to get rid of it. The blood, the fear, the shame had become a part of him.

It was his fault.

Daisuke was gone.

It was his fault.

Daisuke was gone.

It was his fault.

He was the only one to blame.

A sudden sharp pain seared his cheek, a sob tore from his throat, and when his vision returned, there were dark brown eyes mere centimeters from his.

A breath of relief rustled his lashes. "Oh, thank fuck."

Despite the fact that his body was shaking, racked with silent sobs, Ken managed a gurgled laugh.

Warm arms wrapped around him and pulled him to Daisuke's chest, and Ken allowed the tears to fall, to release in waves fierce enough to rival the dark waters of his eternal nightmares. And Daisuke held him. Kept holding him until the sobs faded to hiccups and the tears slowly dried and Ken was limp and boneless in his arms.

"Don't scare me like that," Daisuke murmured into his hair. "I was calling for you and shaking you for at least five minutes."

Ken swallowed, wetting his throat enough to speak, though his voice was hoarse. "Is that why my cheek stings?"

He gave a short shrug. "Definitely not the first time I've had to slap you."

Ken's body shook with amusement, but as he pulled back to get a good look at his best friend, his roommate, his lifeline, no sound accompanied that laughter.

He pressed a hand to Daisuke's cheek, then another to the other cheek, feeling his hot skin under his touch. He traced the lines of his nose, his eyelashes, brows, hairline, cheekbones, lips, jaw. He had to feel everything, to make sure he was okay, to make sure he was there.

Daisuke caught his wrist as his fingers moved down to locate his throat, his pulse point, his collarbone, and he shook his head. "Ken, I'm here. I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere." His hand shifted, threading their fingers together over his bare chest. "You'd have to work a lot harder to get rid of me."

Ken bit his lip. "Promise?"

He leaned forward, bumping their foreheads together. "Promise."

With a shaky breath, Ken allowed his eyes to flutter shut. "Everyone I love keeps disappearing," he whispered. "That's what I dream about. Everyone I love disappears. Dies. And there's nothing I can do to stop it because it's my fault."

Daisuke squeezed his hand, encouraging him, and the arm trapped underneath rubbed a line along his back. He didn't speak, only waited.

"It's usually Osamu or Wormmon or _you_ ," he added, "and it's always my fault. I don't want to lose you."

"You won't."

The determination in his voice was enough to make Ken look at him with wide eyes.

"As long as you'll let me," Daisuke said, quieter but just as determined, "I'll stay by your side. You won't lose me."

Ken's breath trembled, and he pushed forward and laid his lips over Daisuke's, willing himself to believe that was true, willing himself to hope, no matter how futile. When the hand holding his squeezed tight, almost tight enough to hurt, he pulled back, but Daisuke surged forward, covering his mouth before he could go.

The kiss was slow, gentle but firm, and Ken allowed himself to succumb to warm, reassuring lips.

Daisuke pulled his hand away to twist his fingers through loose, black hair, curling around his neck to hold him in place. The heat emanating off of his body was almost overwhelming as Ken wrapped an arm around his torso, pressing them chest to chest.

But not nearly as overwhelming as the emotions pouring into his head, into his body.

Desire.

Affection.

Surprise.

Eagerness.

Joy.

Like this, they mixed together until he couldn't tell the difference between his and Daisuke's, until they were so in sync everything melded into one.

Ken broke away, panting, gasping for breath, unable to straighten his thoughts, but the words still tumbled out: "I'm sorry."

"What?"

"It can't be easy getting woken up by my nightmares," he said, eyes fluttering down to peruse the bare chest as best he could in a dark room.

But Daisuke laughed—a soft, almost pleased laugh. "I was definitely awake before the nightmare started," he said, breathless, and the hand at Ken's neck slid halfway down his back and tugged the nightshirt up till Daisuke could touch the skin of his back. "I woke up when you were calling my name. Sounded like you were _begging_ me for something, Ichijouji."

Oh.

A flush rose to his cheeks. In the wake of the Dark Ocean, Ken had forgotten about _that_ particular part of his dream.

Daisuke's hands wouldn't stop gliding over the smooth skin of his back, tracing his spine, counting his ribs, warming him in a way only Daisuke could. And his desire, his arousal, his _wanting_ was strong already, desperate.

"You're infuriating," Ken moaned, pressing his thigh between Daisuke's legs, feeling the hardening length there.

"You're beautiful." Daisuke pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Lovely." Then the other. "And I'm not letting you go." Finally, the tip of his nose, lingering there, even as those callused hands scraped down to cup his ass.

Ken gasped. "The last couple days…" Talking was hard. He was out of breath. "Did you know I can tell when you masturbate? You get so wrapped up in it I can't focus on anything else."

"What?" His eyes widened, whites practically glowing in the dark.

"Not all the time," he amended. "It only happened occasionally before, but the last couple days, something's been different."

Even though he couldn't see the flush, he knew Daisuke was embarrassed when he tucked his head down, breaking eye contact. "I was thinking about you."

Ken nearly moaned. "That's why the bond was so strong. That's why I could barely resist touching myself."

A whimper escaped Daisuke's parted lips.

"Well, in the end, I couldn't," he admitted, lowering his voice. "This morning—yesterday—when I took a shower…I had to. I couldn't stop thinking about you."

Daisuke muffled a groan with his shoulder, and the vibrations shot desire deep to Ken's bones. "Why? When?" His voice was strained, raw, and his fingers clenched, digging into the supple muscles of his ass. "How?"

"What in the world do you mean?" Ken asked, stifling a gasp.

He lifted his head till their eyes met. "I thought you didn't…" He sighed. "I don't know what I thought. Fuck, your brain's confusing as hell."

Ken cupped a hand to his cheek. "And the way you've felt about me hasn't changed since we were eleven years old, Daisuke. How was I ever to assume you had feelings for me?"

Daisuke chuckled. "Would you believe me if I told you I've been in love with you since we were eleven years old? How could my feelings change?"

That made him pause.

 _Love_ was an incredibly strong word for any feelings when they were children, but he supposed it hadn't been all that different for him.

When you grow to love someone slowly over time, it's easy to forget a time you felt any other way, it's easy to fall in love before you've realized just how deep you've gotten. And just when you think you've loved as strongly as you could muster, as much as you could imagine, you wake up the next day and realize you've fallen all over again.

Ken shifted closer, threading his fingers through Daisuke's hair as he allowed himself to surrender to another kiss.

Daisuke responded immediately, tongue delving into his mouth, holding him tight till Ken hooked a leg over his hip, and they rocked together in a slow but steady rhythm, perfectly in sync. The movement was gentle, tantalizing, and it sent an electric warmth throughout Ken's body and buried itself deep in his core—and he knew he wasn't the only one affected.

One of the many benefits of their bond.

When Daisuke released his ass to tug his shirt off, when Ken trailed kisses down his throat and nibbled at the sensitive skin at the base of his neck, when Daisuke slid a hand over his pajama-covered thigh, when Ken toyed with the elastic hem of his boxers, there were no doubts. There were no worries or concerns or apprehensions when they could feel the mutual yearning with every ounce of their beings, when the need was so strong it thumped through them to the same tremulous beat of their hearts.

"I do, you know…" Daisuke pressed soft kisses below each eye as he wiped away the remnants of the tears, no longer flowing. "Love you, I mean."

Ken covered his mouth with his and finally slipped a hand under the hem of his boxers to caress his bare hip, to toy with the curls, to skim the length of his erection. "I know," he said when they pulled apart, and Ken's fingers closed around him and struck up a lazy rhythm.

With a shaky sigh, Daisuke buried his face in the crook of Ken's neck, his hot breath spanning across the sensitive skin. "You trying to tease me?"

He released a soft laugh, which quickly broke into a sharp cry when teeth sank into his shoulder, and his grip tightened. "That's a dirty trick," he gasped.

But Daisuke dragged his tongue over the forming bruise and covered it with kisses, not even bothering to answer. His hands, though, made quick work of the pajama pants and boxers, pushing them over narrow hips and down, down, down, until he had to use his foot to pull them off the rest of the way.

Ken's eyes fluttered shut, far too easily distracted by the warm hands gliding over his bare skin, stroking and discovering every inch of his naked body. No one had ever touched him like this, like he was important and delicate and beautiful.

And safe.

The way Daisuke touched him, caressed him with a deep, unyielding affection, he knew he was safe and secure. Daisuke would never let anything hurt him if he could prevent it.

Daisuke would protect him. Would save him over and over again if necessary.

And in turn, Ken would trust him with all of himself.

"I love you, I love you," he murmured into cinnamon-brown hair as Daisuke stretched him open with the lube from his nightstand, fingers curving and curling inside until he gasped and tears of pleasure pricked his eyes. "I love you."

Daisuke pressed wet kisses to his neck and jaw. "I know." He slid another finger in, struggling to breathe as Ken's arms wrapped tight around him. "I know."

When he entered a moment later, condom securely in place, Daisuke kissed away the fresh tears and set a relaxing pace with each shallow thrust, easing into it. Ken leaned his head back and shifted slightly, adjusting the angle, before rolling his hips with the rhythm, drawing him farther, deeper, tighter.

Daisuke kissed his chest, circled his nipples with a pointed tongue, nipped at the erect buds, and Ken released a keening moan as the next thrust hit right where he was most sensitive.

Then, his cries were smothered by hot lips and tongue, and he allowed himself to relish Daisuke's embrace, his caresses, his deep affection. The kisses were languorous, slow and lazy but enthralling all the same, and they were almost as overwhelming as the deliberate thrusts grazing the nerves inside.

All too quickly, his body was pulled in all different directions. He was taut but pliant, delirious but determined, weak but volatile, and when Daisuke slipped his hand between them to palm his arousal, it only took two steady strokes for him to come undone.

A sob ripped from his mouth.

Daisuke laid reverent kisses across his cheeks, his nose, his jaw, his neck, every open bit of flushed skin he could reach, though his body quivered. Even with Ken writhing with pleasure in his arms, riding out the remnants of his orgasm, he didn't rush.

He kept his rhythm slow, meticulous, determined, slowly building until he pressed his cheek to Ken's and murmured, "I'm right here with you. You don't have to be scared anymore," and whimpered as he came—Ken felt the ecstasy rush through him all over again, spreading and expanding through him like his own must have spread and expanded through Daisuke not long ago.

Afterward, they held each other, spent and tired and unguarded, and kissed for a long time, reveling in the soft intimate touches. Ken buried his face in his chest and breathed in the scent of sweat and sex and pure Daisuke, and he yielded to that heady aroma.

For the first time, he didn't need their bond to tell him how Daisuke felt about him—all his assumptions had been wrong anyway—because Daisuke's arms were tight around him, keeping him safe and secure and _loved_.

Maybe it wouldn't keep the nightmares at bay, but he wouldn't be alone anymore.


End file.
